The Last Night on the Beat

by Harry Morris

‘Noo, listen up! Ah think, I’ve taken my Giro money oot and when I went tae put it back into my poacket Ah’ve missed and it’s dropped oot, oan tae the grun’ below! Noo! Whit dae ye think yersel’, big yin? Does that no’ sound like a pure genuine story?’

  He then threw his hands out by his side and said, in a Tommy Cooper voice and visual impersonation, ‘The whole truth big man, just like’ – hic! – that!’

  I stood there staring at him for a moment, in total amazement, trying to digest this remarkable tale of woe, in fact, it cheered me up, being one of the best I’ve ever heard.

  All the while he stood there in front of me, demonstrating with his hands how he could have missed his pocket. And then, pulling at his mouth, opening it wide, to expose this black crater where he once had teeth.

  After giving his scenario some serious thought for a few moments, I said, ‘So, you’re saying you lost your Giro money, when you were at the dentist having some teeth removed. Is that right?’

  He snapped his fingers then, offered up his hand to shake mine, he said, ‘Ye’re absolutely spot on, big man. That’s exactly whit I’ve been tellin’ ye.’ Hic! Now ye’re talking!’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘might I suggest you rush home to your house and check under your pillow and see if the Tooth Fairy has been and left you any cash! … Because you’re not getting a pink slip from me. Now get lost!’

  Who Let Them Go?

  …

  One day at the police headquarters, I had arranged a visitation for a local Boys’ Brigade’ outfit and while escorting them around the office and taking them into the various rooms, for example, fingerprinting, taped interview room and the cells, etc. Some of the boys had wandered off by themselves into a room displaying several male photographs on one part of the wall, with a sign above, which read, ‘Top Ten List’.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked one small boy.

  Exaggerating my answer, to make their visit more interesting for them, I said, ‘Those are photographs of the ten most wanted men in Scotland!’

  The same small boy, pointing to the wall, enquired again. ‘They’re the ten most wanted men in Scotland?’

  ‘That’s correct.’ I replied forthrightly.

  ‘Well,’ said the young boy, pausing for a moment. ‘Don’t you think it would have been a good idea to lock them up in prison when you were taking their photographs?’

  Don’t you just love kids?

  Sumjerk Ramdmakhar

  …

  Being able to impersonate various accents comes in handy, particularly when the cops in the office, from time to time, would ask me to make calls for them, in order to wind up someone in another office or department.

  This was the case on one day, with a male civilian assistant, when the cops working out of his office were fed up with the way he spoke to members of the public and wanted me to set him up.

  I decided I would call him and report a hit and run road accident, in a Pakistani/Indian accent.

  The telephone was answered by my victim. ‘Strathclyde Police Pollokshaws. Can I help you?’

  ‘Hello, sir, I am vanting to report a car has just collided with my car and the driver is trying to drive off!’ I said.

  ‘Where are you sir?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m here in the telephone box calling you!’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, I know that sir, but where?’ he repeated.

  ‘Where the telephone box has always been – in the same street vhere my car has been hit!’ I replied sarcastically.

  ‘Right, well let me put it to you this way, where has your car been hit, then?’ he asked.

  ‘On the side of it – big bash, dreadful damage to my car. My vife, she’s very upset by this big bugger!’ I answered back.

  Becoming slightly frustrated by my evasive answers, he said, ‘Sir, as much as I appreciate what you are saying, I need to know the name of the street where the accident has taken place.’

  ‘Vell vhy didn’t you just ask me that first?’ I rudely replied.

  ‘I did sir, but you obviously misunderstood me.’ he said.

  ‘I’m not remembering you asking me that. Maybe you are talking too fast for me to be understanding you!’ I responded.

  By this time I could hear him breathing heavily and could picture his face, with steam coming out of his ears.

  ‘OK, sir! Can…you…tell…me…your…name…please?’ he asked me in a deliberately slow and sarcastic manner.

  ‘My…name…is…Sumjerk…Ramdmakhar! Do…you…understand…me?’ I replied facetiously.

  ‘There’s no need for that attitude sir!’ he said.

  ‘Vell, you started it!’ I answered back.

  ‘OK, let’s not argue about it …Mr Sum…jerk Ramd…ma…khar! Is that how you pronounce your name?’

  At this point the penny dropped and I could hear him repeating my name to himself, under his breath, ‘Sum…jerk Ramd…ma…khar! Some Jerk Rammed My Car!’

  ‘Right you bastard, who is this? I’m on to you!’

  ‘I’m begging your pardon sir, but vhy do you call me bastard?’ I asked him.

  ‘You know exactly why, you bastard. Anyway, I know who you are!’ he said, annoyed by the wind-up, but more so that he’d been duped.

  However, if you buy the book, you will know who Sum…Jerk was!

  And it wasn’t me!

  The Mushroom Joke

  …

  Alan White was a detective sergeant I worked with who was too polite to be a cop. Here is a typical situation I had with him one day.

  During a tea-break in the office, I was sitting telling him a joke, which went like this. ‘Did you hear about the wee mushroom who went out drinking and dancing every night?’ I then paused for a moment before continuing. ‘He was a “fun-gi” to be with!’

  Alan laughed and said, ‘That was a good one, Harry. I must remember it!’

  Later the same day, I entered the office and Alan was with the detective inspector and a few other CID officers.

  ‘Wait till I tell you this joke!’ he said very enthusiastically. With the complete attention of all who were present, he said, ‘What do you call a wee mushroom who goes out dancing and drinking every night with all his friends?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Said one of the officers.

  Whereby Alan replied, ‘A “fun-fellow” to be with!’

  I swear he got a bigger laugh than I did and I told the joke right!

  A Tight Situation

  …

  Along with another motorcycle colleague, we were patrolling the Springburn area of Glasgow, when we were signalled to stop by a concerned female home-help.

  She had called at one of her elderly lady clients and was unable to gain entry to her house.

  However, the elderly lady’s Labrador dog, could be heard whining and yelping inside, an indication that the lady was possibly there, but none of the neighbours had seen or heard from her.

  I attended along with the home-help to the house, situated within a tenement building, but I was unable to see inside her windows, due to the curtains being drawn shut.

  Meanwhile, my colleague made enquiries as to who might have seen her last and how long the dog had been yelping, but nobody could shed any light on our enquiries with regards to her most recent sighting.

  I had to accept the fact that she may have suffered a sudden illness or, injury and had collapsed in an unconscious state.

  The first obstacle I encountered was the letterbox which I had to try and clear of the stuffed newspapers that were blocking it.

  Having achieved this, I was met with the wet, heavy panting of her excited dog, which was obviously desperate to get out.

  All the while I was positive I could hear a weird moaning sound coming from inside, but it certainly was not coming from the dog.

  I decided to refrain from wasting any more precious time and with no other option available, I decided to force entry, as I feared she might be lying severely injured.

  After several attempt
s, using bodily force and kicking the door, it finally succumbed to my size nine Doc Marten boot pressure.

  These Docs were responsible for demolishing many a door.

  The poor desperate dog, forced its way past everybody out onto the landing to get to the back door and out to the garden for a much needed and overdue pee.

  My colleague, Ian Thomson, along with the home-help, both feared the worst for the elderly woman and prompted me to enter the house first and check for her.

  As I made my way along the small entrance hallway, checking each room in turn, I arrived at the kitchen.

  Looking inside, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

  ‘Are you OK hen?’ I asked the frail figure, lying on the kitchen floor staring back at me.

  ‘I think so, but I’ve lost all feeling in my legs. I think I might be paralysed. I can’t move them!’ she replied.

  At this point I summoned the assistance of the home-help.

  After a short chat, a hot cup of tea and a massage to get the circulation flowing in her legs again, she was able to tell me, that after her supper, the night before, she was sitting on a small stool in the kitchen, pulling on her warm thermal tights, when she somehow managed to squeeze both feet into the same leg of her tights.

  She then pulled them on so tightly that she couldn’t move.

  Due to this action and being unable to move, she then lost her balance and fell over onto the kitchen floor.

  Thinking that she was somehow paralysed, she lay motionless on the kitchen floor all night.

  No doubt, the first job for the home-help that morning, was to go out and buy her a pair of thermal socks!

  You’re Nicked!

  …

  Having received numerous weekly complaints from a local MP about the amount of car drivers exceeding the speed limit, along the roadway, past his house, my partner and I were sent to the location, in order to use the new Muni-Quip speed gun.

  Now the speed gun is a hand-held device. You point it in the direction of oncoming traffic and it registers, on a small screen, the speed of the vehicle.

  After several minutes of setting up and checking our equipment, we were set to begin operating.

  Moments later our first car arrived and it was being driven at excessive speed. I pointed the speed gun at it and – Bingo! It registered 44 mph. My partner signalled the oncoming driver to pull over and stop.

  The driver was made aware of why he had been stopped and shown his registered speed on the screen, after which he said, ‘But you can’t charge me! I’m the local MP for the area who wrote in and complained about the amount of drivers speeding!’

  ‘Well sir!’ I replied, ‘you’ll be able tell your constituents and write in and inform my supervisor that you saw at first hand, the police officers in attendance, performing their duty and catching the offenders responsible!’

  Answer The Phone!

  …

  Along with my colleague, I called at the home of David Dick in order to execute a Sheriff’s apprehension warrant.

  Having knocked on his door several times and received no response, I was about to leave, when I noticed the house keys were in the inside door lock.

  This prompted me to look through the letterbox and on doing so I noticed a telephone on a table in the entrance hallway.

  I left and went down to the lower landing of the tenement building out of earshot and contacted my police radio controller at the station and asked him to look the local telephone book for David Dick’s home telephone number.

  Bingo! His number was listed, so I now requested the radio controller to call him.

  I then went back upstairs to his door, lifted the letterbox and waited.

  Moments later, the telephone began to ring in the hallway. It rang several times then, unable to resist a telephone ringing, David Dick appeared in the hallway from a nearby room.

  I watched him through the letterbox opening, as he slowly and deliberately, tip-toed in typical Pink Panther cartoon fashion, towards the telephone and picking it up, he put it to his ear, then answered it in a soft whispering voice, ‘Hello!’

  To which the police radio controller on the other end of the telephone responded by saying, ‘Hello, is that David Dick?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dick replied in a whisper.

  The controller then said, ‘Well, it’s the police here, would you kindly go over and open the door to the officers waiting outside, who wish to serve you with an apprehension warrant for your arrest?!’

  Dick slowly turned around to see me peering at him through the letterbox, but having seen the funny side of it all, he burst out laughing and eventually opened the door to us.

  That’s What She Said!

  …

  Whilst checking a statement taken by a young recruit, regarding a road accident, I came across the following given by the female driver, ‘As a result of the accident, I have a large bruise on my buttocks, bruises to my back and my face is sore. I’m also nine months pregnant’!

  CSI Not Required

  …

  I attended the scene of a housebreaking and while looking at the point of entry, it was obvious to me the person responsible used a true or false key to get in.

  I immediately suspected an inside job by the householder, or that one of her sons present, was involved.

  I was about to put my theory into practice with the lady of the house, when I noticed a piece of paper with writing on it, which she had left, pinned on the back door of her house for her sons. It read, ‘Gone out to the shops, won’t be long, love mum. PS, the keys are in the usual place. In the yellow peg bag hanging on the washing line!’

  Dusty Bin

  …

  As I walked into the motorcycle cops’ canteen kitchen, Adam Cook was in the process of making himself a pot of tea, with his lunch box lying open on the worktop, containing two sandwiches an apple and a chocolate biscuit.

  A shout rang out from another part of the office, ‘Adam Cook, you’re wanted on the telephone!’

  I looked at him and said, ‘Go get the telephone Adam and I’ll make your tea for you”

  ‘Thanks Harry!’ He said, handing me the teapot.

  While standing there making the tea for Adam, the door opened and in walked Dusty Bin, aptly named, because, he was one greedy fat bastard who ate non-stop.

  He walked over and looked into Adam’s lunch box and said, ‘Whit have ye got for yer lunch then Harry?’ Poking at the sandwiches with his fingers.

  ‘Nothing much!’ I replied, giving him the impression it was my lunchbox. ‘I had fish and chips earlier at the training school, so I’m pretty much full up!’

  ‘Are you going to eat these sandwiches then?’ he enquired.

  ‘Definitely not!’ I replied. ‘I couldn’t possibly eat anything else, it would just be greed and totally out of order.’

  ‘Do you mind if I help myself?’ he asked pleadingly.

  ‘Do what you want, Dusty. I’m certainly not going to eat them!’ I replied.

  ‘Oh thanks Harry, you’re a gentleman,’ he replied, promptly helping himself to one of the sandwiches from the lunch box.

  As he munched away on it, he said, ‘Mmmm! They’re tasty Harry, tell your missus she makes a mean sandwich!’

  ‘I’ll tell her, but my missus never made them.’ I responded.

  ‘Well, whoever made them, they’re bloody good!’ he replied.

  I then remarked as I walked out of the kitchen, ‘Yeah, they certainly look good – wire in!’

  ‘Can I have the other one?’ He called out, as I entered the rest room, carrying Adam’s pot of tea.

  ‘Do what you like, I’m not going to eat them, that’s for sure!’ I replied, as I sat down in the rest room, directly opposite the canteen entrance, closely followed by Dusty, armed with an apple in one hand and a half eaten second sandwich in the other.

  ‘There’s no way you made these yersel’ Harry, so tell yer wife, she makes a damn good sandwich!’ he reiterated.
/>   ‘What, them?’ I said, ‘No way, my missus made them. Unless she’s having an affair that I don’t know about!’

  A few minutes later, the door opened and Adam entered the rest room and looking at us both, he said, ‘Right! Where’s my sandwiches? Where did you hide them?’

  I immediately said, ‘Well, tell him Dusty! You were in the kitchen last!’

  Dusty Bin gulped in horror, realising what I had done to him, before performing an excellent impersonation of an Ardrossan Seagull, as he tried to swallow his stolen Adam’s apple whole!

  Playing It Cool

  …

  In the late seventies, I was on mobile patrol with Tam Spencer and Jim McGhee. We were patrolling the Queenspark area of Glasgow, where a pro IRA demonstration march had been taking place.

  During his days off, Tam, worked as a coal man, doing deliveries, carrying the heavy laden sacks filled with coal, up and down tenement stairs. He was about 5’ 10” in height with hands like shovels and the thickest neck I have ever seen, being as broad as his shoulders and I kid you not.

  The expression, built like a ‘brick shit-house’ readily comes to mind when I think of Tam.

  Anyways, during our patrol we received a call to attend the Royal Marines Territorial Army Halls in Maxwell Road regarding a complaint of a part-time marine having been seriously assaulted by a mob that had just entered a nearby public house.

  Having attended and taken the necessary particulars required for a crime report, one young soldier described the main instigator involved as a male in his early thirties, short black dyed hair with a bright red V neck jumper.

  Tam being the senior cop said, ‘Right guys, here’s how we play it. We’re going into the lion’s den here, because this place is bursting at the seams with demonstrators and sympathisers, so let’s play it cool.

  ‘Firstly, when we go in, keep your back to the door and slide in along the wall, without causing too much fuss. Once inside, we survey the crowd and see if we can identify our man. If we see him, I’ll quietly and peacefully, saunter over to him and invite him to come outside to talk, but whatever you do, do not take your baton out, okay? You must not show any sign of aggression.’